


and we kissed as though nothing could fall

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, BAMF Harold Finch, Episode: s05e13 Return 0, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Podfic Welcome, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Harold had been so sure, this time. Just this one, most important time. John would be safe. Harold could do that for him at least.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from David Bowie's _[Heroes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tgcc5V9Hu3g)_.
> 
> I've been sitting on this story ever since the finale aired. I'm still not really satisfied with it, it's not as good as it was in my head. But there comes a point when you're editing for the sake of it, so here goes. I have delayed the timeline of the missile launch by maybe five or ten minutes. Please heed the character death warning.

It's not until he's standing on that roof, listening to John say goodbye to him, that Harold realizes exactly what it is that he has been feeling all these years. How much John truly loves him, and how much he loves John. The bitter tragedy of it sticks in his throat - he can only croak out a broken 'no' as John thanks him one last time for giving him a job and prepares to meet his fate. Harold had been so sure, this time. Just this one, most important time. John would be safe. Harold could do that for him at least.

He has failed, he knows that now. Harold is equally certain that he cannot allow this to happen the way John intends.

There is a chasm between them. Wider than the distance between their rooftops, wider than the whole world. It is the space between life and death, and Harold…Harold simply must join him on the other side.

He is willing to die for John Reese. He has always known that. What he realizes now is…he will die to _be with_ him.

He rushes towards the door on his own roof and hears gunshots beginning to sound on John's. His stomach wound sends a jagged spike of pain through his body as he wrenches the door open. He makes a beeline for the elevator, but its power has been cut, the buttons yielding no response. He doesn’t have time to rewire it.

Harold swallows his panic, manages a few jagged breaths, prepares to race his way down the stairs. There are an awful lot of them. He trudged up them agonizingly slowly when he thought only his own life was at stake, wanted to savor his last few moments alive, however brief. But this is unimaginable. Not his John. His friend. His best friend. Too many deaths in recent days. Elias and Root making sacrifices of their own. Both for him. He hasn't begun to grieve for either of them properly. Another death on his conscience so soon after. He thinks it might break him. Dying himself would be easier. He wouldn't have to live with this much pain.

He almost trips down the stairs, clinging to the railing and taking as many steps as he can at once. He is acutely conscious of the time. He has almost none to get to John and be with him at the end.

Oh god. He just has to get to John. He's lost track of the number of flights of stairs already, but it can't be too much further now. He rounds another corner and his bad leg almost gives out. He staggers against the wall, hands scraping rough white concrete. Harold gasps in pain, but forces himself onward. This is the most important thing he has ever done.

At last the door. He wrenches it open and emerges panting into the cool air. He's down. Now he just has to get up to John's roof.

Inside the neighboring building, he locates the elevator without too much trouble. This one is working. A faint wave of nausea takes him as the lift rises, more blood trickles from his wound.

When the doors open at the top, there's a person in full bulletproof gear aiming a rifle at him: Samaritan. Harold holds up the briefcase instinctively and fumbles for the weapon in his pocket. The Samaritan agent puts a bullet in the elevator wall beside Harold's head, but when Harold shoots his toes off, he goes down.

Alarmed at his own daring, recognizing the new unprecedented levels of his desperation, Harold exits the lift and edges down the corridor, back to the wall, gun out and ready. He doesn't know how many more of them there are, but he estimates there are about nine rounds left in the gun. He once told John that all would truly be lost, should he pick up a firearm. As it turns out, John is the everything which he is about to lose.

When two more agents emerge from around a corner, he clocks one of them over the head with the briefcase and shoots the other - more or less - in the kneecap. All these years watching John have paid off, apparently.

He passes a fire alarm, and hits it with the briefcase, just in case there’s anyone left in the building below. Then he drags himself onward.

One more level and he'll be on John's roof. He's forgotten how to breathe properly, and he's in more pain than he's ever experienced before, but he knows how to cope with it. Has no choice but to cope with it.

When he walks into the bright cold air, the first thing he sees is the blood on John's shirt. Multiple serious wounds. He’s still fighting, but it’s clear he won’t be making it down from this roof alive, even if Harold had the energy to physically drag him.

John is surrounded by three or four gunmen, trying to defend himself (or more accurately the laptop) from all of them at once. He's smiling, firing round after round, seems to be having fun, enjoying the challenge.

Harold's hand is perfectly steady when he raises the gun again. He never had lessons at this, refused John's attempts to get him to learn, but it seems adrenaline is doing the work for him now. He won’t let John die alone. He feels no remorse over killing the Samaritan operatives; they would soon be dead in any case. Mere minutes left until the missile strike.

John turns when he hears the gunshots, and his expression is aghast when he realizes Harold is the reason for them. Two more men are advancing behind John - Harold shoots them too, without a second thought, and John _sees_ this.

Just the two of them left standing. They both lower their guns. John covers a tattered hole in his right shoulder with his hand, as if to hide it from Harold’s sight.

"Finch, what are you doing up here? You walked away."

Harold turns stiffly and locks the door behind him, wedges the briefcase up against it, to prevent any more agents from joining them on the roof. Then he shows John the blood on his fingertips, the blood that’s staining his own vest. "It's already too late for me. I'm sorry."

Tears spring to John's eyes at once. "No. No, please, Harold...You have to live...you have to..."

Harold has listened to him beg once already today. Twice is too much. A faltering step is followed by a few more until he's in John's space, hand clutching at John's hair, kissing him for all he is worth. Harold refuses to die without having kissed John first.

John is shocked by Harold’s sudden capacity for killing, but he isn’t surprised by this. He returns the kiss as though he’s been waiting all his life for it…and maybe he has.

"Don't you dare try to leave me behind," Harold says fiercely, when they break apart. "I said _both of us_ would end up dead, John. I don't intend to continue on without you, and you can't make me."

John still looks conflicted, anguished even, but he holds Harold close. He squints up at the sky, then looks deeply into Harold’s eyes. "Together, then?"

And Harold smiles, because he knows what to say next. "Always."


End file.
